


Knowing

by REDACTED (orphan_account)



Series: Knowing [1]
Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-17
Updated: 2005-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/REDACTED
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Keith take their man-crush to the next level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been slightly rewritten from first publication on a friends-locked post on my LJ for an issue with location. I've also given it a title since then. Also, my first punditslash that has been more than 13+ *wibble*.

"My next guest is _not_, I repeat, not a competitor of mine, even if he does have excellent hair. He works for an actual cable news network spouting his opinions, though I'm certain Fox News would dispute the validity of MSNBC's status as real news - they aren't fair and balanced, after all, and neither is our next guest. Please welcome Keith Olbermann to the program."

Jon has only been truly nervous before an interview once - the time he interviewed John Kerry on the show - so the strange butterflies he has when Olbermann walks on stage surprise him. But there is the smile, the one that has that hint of snark that reminds Jon so much of the face in his mirror every day.

Yeah. That one.

Should he admit publicly that he Tivos every Olbermann show? Should he tell KO that he's been following his career since ESPN days, that he knew back in the early '90s that Olbermann had a much more promising future than those old frat boys like Kilborn and Patrick - because he had so much more intelligence behind his eyes?

That he knows why they'd picked Olbermann to spearhead ESPN2's programming when they launched? It was presence, and skill, and that fresh intelligence and fun the new network had looked for in its early days, before it had just become a clone of its mother and Olbermann had looked elsewhere to satisfy his creative urges...

Jon tears his thoughts away from satisfying urges, and the past, shaking hands and _focusing_.

"So," he begins, "you do the real news. Sort of like how Dr. Phil does the real shrinking on his show. How's that workin' for ya?"

They laugh, and KO gets right back in his face. "Heard you were named one of Time's most influential people of the year. How does that work when you're _just_ a comedian, anyway, Jon?"

"Right." Jon is uncharacteristically tongue-tied. He can tell that Keith notices, but they run through the entire canned interview, and the lights go down, and Jon _knows_.

Producers are clapping him on the back for another show well-done, but he doesn't hear or notice as he walks down the hallway. He washes the makeup off, and sees a shadow in the doorway.

They both know, Jon realizes as a cold shiver causes him to drop the towel he is holding. The shadow moves away, to be replaced by some-production-assistant-or-other, and the shiver becomes a curl of anticipation in his belly. He forces himself to smile, and nod, and agree to a ten AM meeting, and do anything he can to get out and get to what he knows he needs.

Ducking out through the crowd of well-wishers and autograph hounds, Jon loses his nerve; instead of hailing a cab to get to Keith's place, he starts walking briskly in whatever direction seems most reasonable at the time.

It's six minutes into what might have normally been a ten-minute walk when Jon stops and ducks into one of those little Manhattan bars where you can be anonymous, and drink until you fall over, the ones paparazzi have yet to comprehend are in existence. "Bring the bottle," Jon says without thinking, and is two drinks into a well-aged flask of scotch before he understands. He remembers his wife explaining patiently to him that it was normal; that men sometimes thought other men were attractive, hell, she'd fall into bed with Penelope Cruz if the girl asked, it's just one of those things, Jon, don't make that much of it. But he'd never really considered it, really; pretty boys came and went on a talk show, and pretty girls, and he hadn't ever _known_.

The shadow is back, seated across from him, pouring a drink. "Couldn't do it?"

Jon looks up. Of course Keith would not have let it drop, would not have stayed away. "I _could_, Keith, that's the issue. I wanted to do it. I wanted to throw you over my desk and strip that goddamn suit off you - a suit, goddamn it, take your tie and bind your hands so that you couldn't goddamn well fight me over it, and lick you from head to toe until you begged. I always want that, every time I see you, and you know it, and you love it. I see it in your eyes, you bastard. I'm starting to think..."

"You always think too much, Jon," Keith says evenly, amusement plain on his face. "It's great when you're on stage, but you're with just me. No one's looking."

"It's not right, and you know it. Damn." The curl of anticipation is back; Jon has never been so turned on, so needy and desperate and _wanting_, and he doesn't understand why his obsession over this man has turned into something so carnal, and...

"You're thinking again, aren't you?" Keith gets up and throws fifty dollars on the table and pulls Jon out of the bar and into the New York night, a night so cold Jon cannot breathe, or maybe it's just the realization that the choice has been made that is compressing his chest. There is a cab, an elevator, a tight hand around his, and Jon knows they are past the point of no return. He hasn't decided whether or not this is a bad thing.

They don't speak until they are in Keith's room; Jon finally asks, "Is this something you do with talk show hosts often?"

"Well, you know how it is in the locker room at ESPN. What kind of question...Jon. This isn't...what do you think this is?"

"I don't have much experience with fucking my guests, Keith..." Jon is vulnerable and he hates it. He's lost this battle of attrition, lost the war, lost to a former cable sports network show host with big eyes and a body that Jon can't stop wishing he could touch. He wants to have a ready quip, a snarky rejoinder, but instead Keith's mouth is on his, a whispered "stop talking, Jon" between passionate kisses that are all stubble and hardness and newness, he is being pushed hard towards the bed, and he gives up and allows himself to just want, and need, and stop thinking as he crawls out of his own suit, gives Keith his own tie, and they laugh nervously as they clearly have no idea what they're doing, but they are doing it and Jon is lost for words. They wrestle for control, neither willing to give up advantage, but instead of barbs there are teeth and hands and tongues and limbs everywhere.

Much later, curled together on the bed, Jon finally speaks. "So, when can I be on your show?"

Keith's arms tighten around him, and Jon realizes he hasn't lost at all.

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person)._
> 
> Any mention of any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.


End file.
